


Red Team Holiday

by QueenEchidna



Series: RvB Drabbles (otp's, team family, ect.) [5]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: But family nonetheless, Christmas, Dysfunctional Family, Fluff, M/M, decorating for the holidays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-05
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-03 13:10:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1070832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenEchidna/pseuds/QueenEchidna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the holidays here I'm not able to resist the desire to write Holiday inspired fanfiction for my favorite team. <br/>Series of short fics involving how the Reds handle the holidays that I'll be uploading up through the 25th. Enjoy ^-^</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Decorating

**Author's Note:**

> Pretty well implied Sarge/Simmons because otp  
> I hope you enjoy

What was so great about the time of the year anyway? There was one stupid holiday that lasted one stupid day (two days in Grif’s case, Christmas eve dinner was his favorite part back at home, that being when his parents actually made them a special dinner), but Grif never quite embraced the spirit of the holiday; quite the contrary to his teammates, who seemed to be all about it. From where he was stood against the wall, he had watched for a little more than an hour now as his team decorated the base; they all made trips back-and-forth, always returning with another box of _something_ , or another string of garland hung around their necks. Grif lived for the solemn few minutes of silence when the three lunatics were out retrieving the supplies (and Grif had no idea where they were coming from. Maybe from the supplies shed; did they even _have_ a supplies shed?).

This time, Donut was the only one who made a preemptive trip to get the multicolored holiday lights, ones that very purposefully did _not_ have any blue bulbs in them, and run them back into the base. He dumped the tangle of wires onto the table and began the arduous task of untangling them, and after a few minutes he had portions of the string untangled and hanging over him in all ways, but the lights were still bunched together aggravatingly. 

Simmons scoffed, snatching the orange soldier’s attention away from Donut momentarily, “Why don’t you help him with that? You’ve just been standing there for 2 hours!” He pointed out. Grif had not noticed whenever Simmons climbed up onto that chair where he was nailing garland in equally measure out sections around the perimeter of the walls; but he knew that he did not like the other soldier standing above him holding a hammer. 

Grif shrugged, and seeing as though he wasn’t going to be motivated to do much of anything, Simmons sighed and went back to what he was doing. The chair he was stood on wobbled a bit when subject to the maroon soldier’s moving about, but with Simmons’ weight on it, it began to sway dangerously, throwing him off-balance. Sarge noticed and easily leaned over, gripping the base of the chair and steadying it before Simmons managed to fall. _Too bad,_ Grif thought, _I thought something interesting was gonna happen._

“Grif!” _Oh boy…_ “Stop distracting the few good soldiers I have, they’re actually working!” Sarge said pointedly. It was a bit humorous to watch Sarge try and yell at him whilst he was stringing holiday-themed ornaments from previous years, bits of pretty gold and red lace snagged on different bits of his armor. 

Grif scoffed, “What about Lopez? I don’t see him working!”

Almost on-queue there was a heavy dragging sound that emanated from the back door of the base, followed by Lopez stepping into view lugging something with one arm behind him. “Sargento, tengo el árbol.” He droned and picked up the evergreen tree by the trunk and set it right ways up. Donut turned and grinned wildly, abandoning the mess of holiday lights and jogging over to the robot; Simmons also looked pleased by the sight of the pine, but also looked far too hesitant to get off the chair he was barely balancing on.

“Good work, Lopez!” Sarge grinned and slapped his companion on the shoulder, looking the tree up and down as Donut paced around it, pining over the perfectly aligned limbs and equally fallen angles. Lopez picked up the tree and paced over to the makeshift tree stand (the one Sarge had him build near 3 years ago after Grif tripped over, and broke their old one); he placed it in the stand, shifting it around until it was centered, not even having to ask when Donut turned the screws into the trunk of the tree to keep it in place. “That’s a fine tree,” Sarge remarked. “C’mere Simmons,” He said, and turned to pick Simmons up by the waist off the chair, and set him down on the ground. 

Keeping down the indignant squeak he made at being picked up, Simmons took in the sight of the tree and smiled fondly, “I agree sir; it’s a good looking evergreen!” He admitted. Grif exaggerated his gagging noise when Sarge left his arm resting around Simmons, and then ignored the warning glare Donut shot him in the following moments. 

“¿Quieres decorar ahora?” Lopez asked. And Donut replied with an eager “Sí!” and grabbed for the box of holiday tree decorations, first yanking free a bag of silver tinsel, and then a package of generic red ornaments. Whatever else remained in the box went temporarily untouched when Donut turned his gaze upward and tossed the bag of tinsel towards Grif; who barely reacted quickly enough to catch the package clumsily in his hands. 

He looked questioningly at their lightish-red companion who responded readily, “C’mon and lend a hand. It’s fun, trust me!” He quipped. 

Grif rolled his eyes but hesitated, contemplating for a few lengthy moments weather or not to just toss the package to the side and go find some Oreos; but whatever it was, whether it be the _’Spirit of the holiday season’_ or not, he could not bring himself to do so. He sighed, silently cursing the festive decorations for his change in mood, determined to gift them the blame. He trudged over to the tree, immediately he noticed how the strong smell of natural pine wafted up into his nose and cleared his constant winter sinuses. _Alright_ , he admitted to no one but himself, _maybe the tree isn’t so bad._

He pinched strands of tinsel in-between his fingers and dropped them over the branches of the tree, circling three times and getting the silver, shimmering décor all over it; he tried to avoid clumping it together, but noticed how badly he failed when he stepped back to look. A quiet, annoyed huff blew threw his nose.

Donut took notice from where he was hanging ornaments and stepped back next to his teammate, head turned to one side as he took in the little bits of clumped together tinsel that, if he were honest, looked sort of sloppy. But he smiled fondly and rested his elbow on Grif’s shoulder, “I like it.” He admitted honestly. 

Grif scoffed. “No I mean it.” Donut continued, “It kind of reminds me of us; our team, I mean.” He had no idea what the pink soldier meant but he would be lying if he said he was not interested as to where he was going with the statement. _Probably something terribly cheesy_ , he guessed. “Y’know, it’s not perfect, and,” Donut motioned to the poorly applied tinsel, “perhaps it’s a little goofy, but it’s still…good.” He dotted the end of his sentence with a fond grin. 

_Yeah, cheesy._ Grif smiled and rolled his eyes.

“Hey Donut,” They both heard Simmons call from behind them somewhere, and Donut turned to see him pulling another few ornaments out of the box, a goofy smirk on his face. “What’re these?” He held up a red ornament that, upon first glance, looked just like all the others, but once Grif looked closer he saw there was a strangely familiar orange helmet painted on one, and a pink helmet on another. 

Donut stepped over to the box and pulled out another three bulbs, “They’re for the tree,” He looked at the ones in his hands and picked one up by the hook and held it in front of Simmons so the other could see the maroon helmet painted onto it. “It’s us,” With a cautionary hand, Donut tossed the ornament with the red helmet to Sarge and the brown to Lopez, both of whom caught them and held them gingerly in their hands. Sarge held his out at eye-level and grinned, seemingly pleased, and while Lopez could not visually portray his gratitude for being included; he greatly appreciated the little ornament. 

Simmons handed over the bulb with the pink helmet over to Donut when Donut handed him the maroon one, and then turned to toss the orange one to Grif, who barely caught it. He looked at it curiously and noticed not only was the ornament decorated with a painting of his helmet, but there were little candy canes, cookies, and other sweets scattered over the rest of the red surface; he chuckled, Donut knew him well. 

“These look great Private Donut, what an excellent way to demonstrate the holiday spirit! Just as our founding fathers would have wanted.” Sarge clapped the pink soldier on the back and started towards the tree. Grif noticed Simmons roll his eyes but followed suit; Sarge insisted the ornaments form a pentagon-esq pattern at the front of the tree for all to see, and they all complied, hooking the bulbs onto the tree via the spindly green hooks that blended nicely with the evergreen color. 

Grf looked crookedly at Simmons when the maroon soldier continued to stand in place, just looking the tree up-and-down with a particularly lame grin on his face; he caught Grif’s stare and looked over, “What?” It was obvious he was trying to be rid of his grin but it remained despite his personal objections.

“Your fucking face dude,” Grif smirked, and he did not like something in his own voice, it wasn’t mean or crude like the inflection he normally talked in, and that bothered him; that maybe he wasn’t a complete asshole all the time, or maybe all this _holiday cheer_ was getting to him. Either way he continued with the smallest of smiles, “You’re looking at the tree like you look at Sarge.” His smile grew just a bit when a hint of blush crossed Simmons’ face. “You’re such a loser.” Yes Grif said it, and meant it, but the endearing tone of his voice contrasted the atypically teasing remark.

And Simmons understood that there weren’t any negative connotations, evident by his smile and little nod before he averted his eyes to stare at Sarge and Donut, who were both trying to nail wreaths to the walls having momentarily abandoning the half-decorated pine tree; Lopez stood by as the two geniuses tried to jam the nail into the stone wall, four or five wreaths hung on his arm. 

Grif noticed the familiar smile on Simmons’ face, exasperated but adoring; he wore it quite a lot, especially around Christmas. He continued to watch discretely when the maroon soldier trekked over to the rest of the team. 

If Grif was to be brutally honest with himself, he still hated the holidays, all of them, but especially Christmas, because before just 6 years ago, there was never much to celebrate, there was never a family he enjoyed being with; he loved his sister, he truly did, he would do anything to protect her, but their parents were…well, they conceived him. Nothing more. Holidays were lackluster and gave them nothing more than an excuse for their parents to get drunk off their asses and ignore him and his sister. He tried to take enjoyment out of it, but by age 13 he was basically fed up.

So coming here, as long ago as it was, he expected nothing different; never had he expected what he found, who he found, and how they spent their holidays. It’s taken 6 years for Grif to arrive at this final conclusion, as he watches the team, _his_ team, being happy and cheery amongst everything that they’ve been through; a conclusion that he submitted to when he saw Sarge take a second away from hanging wreaths to give Simmons a quick kiss, and then watched Donut gush at them for a few moments with the biggest smile. 

They were really lame, there has not been a day in the past 6 years that Grif has thought anything _but_ that, but now he knows; now he kind of understands. Like Donut said; they’re all a family, and they’re not perfect, and they’re _unbelievably_ lame, but they’re all he’s got. And considering the circumstances, he’s got it pretty great.


	2. All this holiday needs

“Donut stop,” Tucker groaned for what seemed like the millionth time, which caused Grif to momentarily look up from the magazine he was staring at to the teal and pink soldiers, the latter going back-and-forth within the Blue base hanging up garland and tying big red bows onto everything. The first 15 minutes of the sudden décor assault brought about a very angry Tucker and a glad-to-help Caboose, the youngest blue skipping around with little ornaments and candy canes to hang on wherever they would fit.

At this point, Tucker’s face could not have looked more done, and Grif was content to continue standing in the doorway to the Blue base and idly watch his teammate decorate the enemy’s common area. Amidst Tucker’s whining and Caboose’s humming, Donut just dead stopped and sighed dejectedly as he turned towards the door and motioned to Grif for them to leave. The orange soldier cocked his head in confusion, but could not care enough to wonder about the odd turn of events any further. 

The two returned to the Red base and Sarge was there to greet them with an atypical “What have I told you about going to the Blue base?” lecture before he waved them off so Donut could continue his Christmas Eve preparation and Grif could go do Grif things that he could care less about. 

“Wait, so he called you on the radio?” Grif wondered to Donut.

“Well he used the public frequency, I got the message too.” Simmons answered, walking into the room. 

Grif removed his helmet and raised an eyebrow, “I didn’t hear him.” He said.

The maroon soldier sniggered, “You’re not on the public frequency, Sarge doesn’t actually keep your frequency stored in his helmet.” He explained, “Why do you think _I’m_ always the one who calls you?” His tone was the slightest bit sassy and it annoyed Grif. 

Simmons craned his neck to look past the kitchen door to where Sarge was trying to pretend he wasn’t rolling cookie dough and humming Chirstmas tunes to himself; he smiled, and Donut elbowed him as he passed, “You should go help him. He’d probably prefer your company over mine.” He grinned and tried to loop his arm around the other’s to drag him along.

But Simmons resisted and shook his head, “No I’m…I’m not good with cooking.” He admitted.

Grif snorted amusedly, “The great Simmons; not good at something?! _Oh god_ send help the world must be ending!” He drawled melodramatically, moving over to hang off the taller man, but he was shoved away with a huff and Simmons moved off to the sofa and fixed his gaze on their sub-par television set.

It could have been taken differently, but Grif could care less and he was formulating plans in his head to laze in his decrepit armchair in front of the TV as well, but then he heard a quiet, indignant huff out of the strawberry blonde to his left; upon looking he saw Donut did not look quite as content with the confrontation. He decided he would regret what he was about to do, “What’s wrong?” He sighed in personal defeat.

Donut crossed his arms and lowered the incline of his chin, “Simons has this awful sense of the holiday spirit.” He mumbled so the cyborg couldn’t hear.

“What’re you talking about? He’s been helping you decorate and prepare all week. I mean it’s Christmas Eve, god forbid he takes a moment to himself.” Once he said it, he regretted it; it sounded _way_ too much like he was _defending_ the other soldier.

“No no,” Donut shook his head and looked back-and-forth between the kitchen and the sofa, then leaned in closer to Grif, to which the orange soldier had to resist shying away from. “I mean it’s _Christmas_ , it’s the most wonderful time of the year to be with friends, family, and the people you love.” He said pointedly, but Grif saw no underlying implications in restating such over said things. 

He shrugged, “So?”

Donut scoffed quietly but continued, “ _So_ ; he’s been spending plenty of time with his friends and family,” He motioned in a circular-pattern at the general vicinity of their base, “But what about with the _one he loves_?” He concluded in even more hushed whisper and pointed over his shoulder to the kitchen.

After a contemplative moment of partial disbelief, Grif sighed “Dude, I don’t care that much, it’s been pleasant not having them so… _close_ recently.” He shuddered.

The pink soldier mock-punched his arm, “ _Grif_.” He hissed, “C’mon and help me out with this. They deserve to be happy, and I mean happy _together_. And I think-“

“Do you understand how lame you sound right now?” Grif wondered aloud and Donut shushed him, “We’re not in some goddamn romance novel dude, I think they’re pretty fucking happy as they are; I mean, do you see them half the time?” He motioned around somewhat erratically, “Sarge does that stupid reach-around-yawn thing all the time, and Simmons will just walk up to him and kiss him on the cheek whilst Sarge is using me for target practice, like they’re fucking teenagers.” He rubbed his forehead and sighed, lowering his tone, “It’s kind of fucking ridiculous how happy they are.

Perhaps he was a bit jealous, he would never admit it, but he probably was; the two of them had one-another and even on the verge of death they had been content with one-another, and Grif was never fond of that type of cliché relationship, but maybe he wished he was that happy with someone else. But he did not let himself think too much on it, and Donut was a great distraction when he chuckled, “What?”

Donut patted him on the shoulder, “Quite observant.” He smirked, “Never mind, go about your own business.” With that he walked off.

“Whatever.” Grif mumbled and trudged off in the opposite direction to watch TV as he originally planned. Slumping down into the overused armchair he noted the grainy image of some reality program that was probably being re-routed through 13 different satellites from Earth to them; he quirked an eyebrow, giving just enough of a shit to find the choice of entertainment odd for their resident genius. “Hey Simmons, I thought you hated this crap.” After there was no response he cast his gaze over to the other soldier to see his head supported on one hand, and eyes closed; his glasses sitting precariously on the lower part of his nose.

“Simmons?” Grif said louder, which stirred the other soldier.

“Hm, yeah?” He mumbled and cracked his neck before fixing his glasses.

“Tired?”

“A bit.” He shifted positions to sit up straighter. “Been up with Donut finishing presents and such else.” 

That caught Grif’s attention, “Presents? How the hell would you get presents out here?” He wondered in a disbelieving tone. 

Simmons chuckled, “Vic owed us a couple favors, and Donut’s pretty good at getting Caboose to knit things for him.” He said smugly. He reached over to the side table and picked up the book that was placed there, a thicker novel that Grif remembers using as a coaster a couple days ago when he took advantage of their eggnog surplus and stayed up all night drinking the stuff. As he cracked open the book he saw Grif’s somewhat concerned grimace and chuckled, “We figured we’d just make Christmas a little bit more interesting; we don’t expect anything from you, Lopez, or Sarge.” He said matter-of-fact. 

Without much of a precursor Simmons had his book pulled up and away from his grasp, he turned to grab for it but was stopped when Sarge kissed his forehead, “If you think I’m letting you celebrate Christmas without at least one present, then I’m sad you don’t know me as well as I thought.” He smiled and handed Simmons his book back, taking in the little flustered look on his features. “You’ll be surprised.” He winked, and Grif faked a gagging noise. 

Donut walked behind him and flicked his ear, not even hesitating in his measured strides, “Ow.” Grif whined and rubbed at the afflicted area. 

He turned his gaze back to Simmons, who was looking towards the doorway where Sarge left, his expression content and the slightest bit dreamy; the orange soldier rolled his eyes at the sight. 

Across the room, Donut was careful to tie the lacy red string around the bundle of green leaves decorated with little white berries, a small bow soon shown on the front with some excess left that he took and pinned to the inner door frame of the kitchen, hanging down just low enough to be visible from both sides. He smiled in accomplishment to himself and slid off the countertop he was stood on; he still held another two bundles of the mistletoe and shoved them into one of the pockets at his belt for elsewhere in the base.

He looked over to Simmons on the sofa and then to the bathroom where Sarge went to wash his hands free of the flour that was caked on them, he peered back into the kitchen and grabbed one of the chipped mugs that none of them used anymore, but first called out for Simmons to come and help him. He passed the maroon soldier on his way and handed the mug to Grif, to his confusion, and then followed Simmons to the kitchen.

Donut quickly got Simmons busied with getting something off a high shelf that he needed before grabbing for a rubber band that was stuck around the handle of the refrigerator; he spun back into the doorway and pulled the elastic taught between his fingers 

Aiming it at Grif’s head, he let it go and ducked back into the kitchen; thinking momentarily that this was all a little elaborate, but that it just added to the fun of the season.

Grif felt the rubber band whack him in the face, just above his eye and his entire body flinched reflexively; his hands flew to his face to check for a bullet hole, incidentally dropping the mug Donut previously handed him without reason. It shattered noisily to the floor, and Grif was too busy checking for external bleeding to hear Sarge storm out of the bathroom and wonder what the hell was going on, or Simmons exclaiming in surprise from the kitchen.

Grif knew he was in trouble when he was grabbed by the back collar of his armor and jerked backwards, only to have Sarge begin screaming his ear off about making a mess he probably wouldn’t clean up. But he didn’t care, he was just happy when Sarge released him, and although he ended up on the ground, he was content to find no bullet entry wounds on his face.

In his peripheral he vaguely noted Sarge storming off to the kitchen only to run chest-first into Simmons in the doorway; Grif insisted on keeping his afflicted eye closed, but he could tell when Simmons got flustered; he shifted on his feet, he rung his hands together, easily noticeable even through the blurry peripheral of one eye.

“Ew, _gross_.” Grif groaned as he saw Sarge leaning down just the slightest to kiss Simmons, not minutely, and not exactly chaste either. He exclaimed when another rubber band flew in and smacked his lip that hurt like a bee sting, obviously flung in by Donut, and he then moved his hand to his throbbing lower lip. _Mistletoe, sure, wonderful._ Grif thought, prying himself off the floor and back into his armchair.

Simmons was smiling brightly when Sarge pulled away, his freckles less noticeable under the red hue of his cheeks, Grif heard Sarge chuckle warmly before leaning down to plant a quick kiss on the other’s forehead. _Lovesick nonsense; that’s all this goddamn holiday needs._ Grif cursed silently to himself and suddenly wished he had an entire carton of strong eggnog presently on-hand.

Yeah, this holiday really wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Red Base Christmas more like Grif the 5 year old


	3. Christmas morning

Waking up to a face full of snow was not a way Grif believed the day would begin, and certainly it did not include the loud laughing of Donut running from his room. Before his head even cleared, still drowsy with not only sleep but the 3 mugs of hard eggnog he guzzled the previous night, Grif sprung out of bed and sprinted out the door after his teammate, vaguely noting Simmons sitting up in his own bed and chuckling. 

His bare feet connected hard with the metal floors of their base; he could barely see down the hallway at the fleeting pink armor, his eyes were still glazed over with the previous unconsciousness of sleep. However the thought of clear sight was not his problem, but rather the frozen water now soaking into his orange t-shirt and stinging his still sleep-sensitive skin.

Donut stopped and looked to his right, then back, and sprinted out the back door, and Grif stupidly followed, right into a trap as it seemed; Sarge and Lopez were standing on either side of the door outside and toppled the snow piled on the top half of the doorframe. It landed on Grif hard, but not enough to knock him over, and he swore quietly to himself; if he could feel his fists he would _so_ be beating the shit out of all three of them, and probably Simmons for good measure, he probably knew this was going to happen. 

“Sarge,” He heard that familiar nagging of Simmons’ voice past the laughing of his teammates, and Sarge quieted gradually. Hands not-so-gently grabbed Grif by the shoulders and yanked him backwards and back onto the heated floors within the base. “Fun is fun but it’s fucking _freezing_ out here, it’s Christmas, don’t make him sick.” 

Half an hour later Grif was seated on the couch, wearing a new shirt and wrapped in a red wool blanket and clutching to a mug of, what he supposed was, tea; he tried to ignore the shaking of his extremities and focused on cursing his teammates under his breath. The others (meaning Donut and Simmons mostly) scurried back-and-forth putting out things in the common area under their massive holiday tree that, upon some recollection, did not seem to fit under the limited height of the ceiling. There were a surprising amount of boxes wrapped in, mostly red, paper, he felt bad for not having anything to give as well, but then he sneezed and became newly-aware of how numb his entire body was, and suddenly he did not feel so bad about it. 

Donut plopped himself down on the couch next to Grif and threw an arm over him, and Grif was glad the other seemed to have taken his armor off and now was in a maroon holiday-esq sweater he was 90% sure belonged to Simmons. Donut moved just a bit to look behind the sofa where Sarge was rummaging for something, and strawberry blonde hair shuffled into Grif’s face, making him turn away and wipe the irritating feeling from his features. “This is exciting, huh?” He asked with glee, flipping back around, this time coming within a centimeter of butting-heads with Grif.

“Sure,” The stockier man drawled, trying to move away but finding himself trapped between the arm of the couch and the arm of a particularly cheery holiday nut. “Would’a been better if someone hadn’t dropped snow on me.” Grif mumbled. 

A present was dropped on both Donut’s and Grif’s laps and they looked up to see Simmons leaning over the back of the couch holding an armful of wrapped gifts, “You two go first since you’re the youngest.” He grinned.

Grif narrowed his eyes up at the other man, “Bullshit, I’m older than you dude.” 

“Not mentally you’re not.”

Grif went to retort but he got bits of wrapping paper thrown in his face instead, originating from Donut ripping open the square package he was given. He leaned over to get a better look and saw a lightish red MP3 player with a pair of white ear-phones wrapped up next to it. “Oh man!” Donut exclaimed excitedly. 

 

“Turn it on,” Simmons said from his place laying other gifts under the pine tree, and Donut did so, then exclaiming again and leaping towards the other to hug him. The force knocked Simmons over onto his ass but Donut didn’t let go until Sarge walked over and pried the blonde off. “I was hoping you’d approve.” Simmons chuckled a bit out of breathe, probably having had the wind knocked out of him. 

“It’s just an MP3 player Donut, I don’t think that reaction was warranted.” Grif pointed out judgingly.

Joy-filled grass-green eyes flew from their gaze on the MP3 player to Grif, “No look.” He shoved the screen towards Grif and flashed the long list of material, “He loaded all of my songs, movies, and shows on it!” He explained eagerly, finger running over the scroll-circle as he cycled through the contents. The grin never left his face, and his face never left the screen of the MP3 player, even when Sarge tossed a lumpy-looking gift over to him. 

Grif made a sound of confusion, “I still don’t think the reaction was quite warranted.”

It did not take long, following the first present he opened, for Donut to be surrounded with little nick-nacks and trinkets that he received, both in the mail, and from on-base. He had a pink and black stripped scarf rested comfortably over his neck that still had a little tag that read _-To: Private Biscuit. Merry Christmas! Love: Caboose-_ And sitting on either side of him were the DVDs Sarge gave him along with the acrylic paints, MP3 player, and his favored hygiene products that Simmons gifted him; he fiddled almost mindlessly with the holovid recorder Lopez gave him, turning it one, pointing it around the room and recording, what he kept referring to as, _”Their first Christmas as a family.”_ obviously disregarding the previous 5 Christmases they’ve celebrated that, upon continued remembrance, were mostly spent separated, half-starving, or running-for-their-lives.

Having not moved much from his seat on the couch, Grif continued to down the tea in his hands, also wearing a scarf, but his was colored orange and gold, and had a tag that told him Donut was the giver. Simmons was grinning, quite blatantly, when Sarge dropped a small mountain of presents in front of him, and Donut quickly offered to help him open them, whilst Donut himself pushed a couple packages in front of Sarge and then Lopez. 

The closest thing to a laugh he could have made came from Lopez when he saw the age-old Tamagachi in the small box with an even smaller note that read _-Hey Lopez, now you’ll always have a buddy to hang out with! From: Donut.-_ Grif didn’t pay attention long enough to see what exactly was in all of the packages that still lay scattered around under the tree, but he remembered Donut giggling at _something_ , and Sarge voicing his approval of _something_ loudly, but none of it was any concern of Grif’s. 

His tea was getting cold, and he was getting tired by the time Donut began hauling his things into his quarters but eventually came back out with earbuds sitting in the crook of his ears, and fingers moving over the scroll wheel of the MP3 player. He was humming some annoyingly catchy tune and would occasionally break out into the actual lyrics; all the while Simmons was trying to organize the presents he was given and smirking, the idiot was _always fucking_ smiling. 

The maroon soldier, who was actually dressed in a bright red Christmas sweater that matched Sarge’s, got up and strolled to the kitchen, coming back with a trayful of hot chocolate and cookies; an impractical breakfast of sorts, but Grif was not about to complain as he leaned forward to snatch three or four of the gingerbread cookies and shove them down his gullet. 

He began admitting to himself that maybe, _just maybe_ , Christmas was not so bad, even if he was never expressly Christian, even if the holiday was never good to him _before_ , and maybe it was alright. His eyes glanced over the content expressions of his teammates, happy and excited in some cases, and Grif wished, rather shallowly, that they weren’t so happy, and that they could see the underlying misery of the holiday as he does. 

Donut distracted him from his musings by flopping down on the sofa next to him _again_ , nearly spilling his cold tea in his lap and all over everything. Their resident excitable recruit held up a colorful bag and two wrapped boxes, and after Grif gave him a funny look, he set them down in the orange soldier’s lap. “You seem to be ignoring your own gifts,” Donut grinned pleasantly, “Open them; the one in the bag is from Simmons.” He explained, then distanced himself to toy mindlessly with his new MP3 player. 

It was a mindset of disbelief that Grif felt when he had presents dropped on him, he never received many presents, and he had not thought anyone here would give him any presents either, it was something he had simply never heard of. He began to peel off the paper of one of the two boxes and ran his fingers over the glossy box surface; an image of a handheld electronic multitool sat beneath his fingers, and the lamest of smirks covered his face. “Cool,” He mumbled quietly.

He made quick work of the other box, and was equally pleased to find a few magazines pertaining to both women and swimsuits, and he cursed Donut good-naturedly for being such a knowing prick. The contents of the bag, however, were a bit more meaningful (even if Grif would never admit it).

Amongst the tissue paper that was, not so shockingly, red, he found an old Grifball and paint-splattered pair of goggles with a circular hole in the visor portion that Grif hasn’t seen in, probably, 7 years, but the sentiment was still there and he appreciated. There was a note reminding him of what it meant, even though it was not necessary: 

_-Hey Grif, remember when I first met you, a few years ago at boot camp, right around Christmas? And we were doing the combat simulator? I shot you in the face and gave you a black eye and you were in the infirmary for 2 hours, yeah, I certainly do. And when we were first stationed here, we played Grifball, but you lost terribly, and I accidentally cracked your femur after I threw the ball at you? You didn’t talk to me for a week. Fucking drama queen.-_

Grif feigned annoyance, but that did not keep a small grin off his face; _-Yeah well, I figured you’d appreciate having these back, they kind of remind me of our partnership, our friendship, in a word. Merry Christmas Grif. From: Simmons-_

Although he would not outwardly admit that the gift meant a lot to him, Grif scoffed and kicked back with a mug of steaming hot chocolate and yet another cookie; Simmons looked at his hopefully, and received a nod of thanks in return, although their collected communication was interrupted when Donut inquired, very loudly, if Grif liked his presents, to which he gave an affirming response. 

As the day went on, it seemed as though the holiday was everlasting; Lopez found a Scorpion waiting outside for him to work with, Donut discovered the new set of frag, sticky, gas, and flash grenades that awaited him on the room of the base, and Sarge was happy to find a shiny new shotgun with a bright red bow sitting in the cab of the Warthog for him.

Grif, of course, got more snow thrown at him throughout the day, and there was a rather intense snowball fight around lunchtime that sprouted from Donut and Caboose tossing snow at each other for fun. Sarge had coordinated a unified attack, which Tucker amazingly deterred by manufacturing an immense wall of snow for defense. Grif found absolutely hilarious when Simmons slumped back into the base and stripped off his chestplate only for a few cubic feet of snow to fall out.

There were more treats and drinks, both alcoholic and not, that filled the rest of the day through dinner with a warm fuzziness that they reveled in. It was nice.

By midnight, Grif found himself feeling fucking exhausted, his limbs ached from the time in the snow, and his stomach hurt from all of the snacks and other such things he inhaled during the day, so he ready to pass out when he dragged himself into his and Simmons’ quarters and slumped down into his cot. He offhandedly noticed Simmons leaned against the wall on his own cot, asleep, and wrapped in his maroon and black scarf, his glasses sat barely perched on the end of his nose, but all else aside he looked to be just as done with the day as Grif was.

Pulling his covered up and settling in, Grif reached over to flip the light switch and paused when he saw an oh-so-familiar blue package sitting on his bedside table; he reached for it, trying to keep the crinkly material quiet. He grinned seeing the Oreos contained, and a a sticky-note attached to it; he automatically assumed they were a little gift from Simmons. 

But he paused, and almost couldn’t believe what exactly the yellow bit of paper said, and he read it over at least 3 times before he smirked in a silent thanks and began stuffing his face with his favorite sugary snack. _-Merry Christmas dirtbag.-_ There was no calling name, but the strikingly simplistic handwriting said it all; _besides_ , who else would call him a dirtbag?

Even with his mouth half-stuffed with Oreos, Grif sighed contently and let his eyes flutter shut; _Yeah,_ he admitted to himself, _So brings an end to an…alright holiday._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finished it just in time for Christmas Eve  
> Happy holidays everyone and I hope you enjoyed reading ^_^


End file.
